Making Sense
by LiningWhale5849
Summary: A story from the perspective of Erica Hahn starting before the elevator kiss. Originally intended to be a serial I've decided I feel more comfortable leaving it as a oneshot. Pairing: "Callica" or Callie/Erica or Hahn/Torres


A/N: I do not own these characters or the dialogue used here. All are property of Shonda Rimes and ABC.

This is the first chapter of a story written entirely from Hahn's perspective.

Please R&R as I would like to know where you feel I can improve as a writer.

Thanks  
-K

* * *

Life is never straight forward. It never makes perfect sense. There are no instructions for emotions and there are no protocols when something doesn't line up.

Surgery makes sense. There are procedural steps to follow; A leads to B, C follows B: intense enough to distract me from the rest of the world. Nothing exists outside of this body laid open for my inspection. Forget all that bullshit about baring your soul, showing trust. Trust is letting someone saw your sternum down the middle before they cut into one of the most vital organs of your being. This makes sense to me.

I suppose this was why the concept of "love" never made any form of logical sense to me. I understand lust: pure and simple. The emotional connection, the aching, the angst, all of the melodramatic bullshit never appealed to me. It never even crept into my mind even in my supposed love-life.

I've been around the block. For me it hasn't been all that difficult or baffling. Sex and emotions had always been separate. The men had enjoyed this but always found someone more beautiful or adventurous. In any case I was rarely sorry to see them go. The women found me difficult and even when I tried I could never bring myself to draw from those oft spoken of bottomless wells of unconditional love and support. Furthermore, there was always something awkward about the dynamic between myself and my lovers. Like they wanted to reach out and grab my hand but never felt safe enough to try.

I don't make friends easily; I've said this before. I learned to never trust someone when they say they mean you no harm. It's part of my world; my profession doesn't allow me to play nice. Not if I mean to make it to the top and stay there. Still, it can be lonely when the day ends and I come home to a quiet, orderly, and empty home. My TV was always on if only for the noise.

* * *

I could only take so much so I gave up and decided to make the effort to seek human companionship.

_And why shouldn't I seek the company of the two most beautiful people at Seattle Grace? _I naturally rationalized. Just because I was working there now and thus wouldn't sleep with Sloan didn't mean things wouldn't change in the future.

Like I said, I've had lovers on both sides of the fence but discovered I prefer men as a general rule. Callie was almost peripheral until we started "sharing" as my therapist would call it. Callie's marriage to George, his cheating, their divorce, my unexpected history: all of it coming out into the open as easily as the tequila filled the shot glasses and then burned a path down our throats.

It never felt tense. The idea of falling for Callie never crossed my mind. Not until she brought it up after Addison visited, only then did I became conscious of the intensity between myself and Callie. And she retreated into unrepentant promiscuities with Sloan. It was, at the very least, annoying. I would catch myself feeling possessive and jealous the only problem being I couldn't tell if I was jealous of her or him.

She and I would ease the tension with comedy and over compensation. It worked for a time, until Callie said something that brought out the idea of a threesome. I laughed but couldn't help feeling used. In a situation like a ménage a trois I would inevitably be thought of as the third wheel and I have never taken the backseat with my lovers. I am far too possessive to share them. That idea of being secondary was in the back of my mind all day, slowly stoking the flames a brash rebelliousness that rarely raises its head.

* * *

Callie and I were discussing our plans for the evening –Joe's? a movie at my house?- when none other than Mark Sloan joined us.

"He's thinking about a threesome," Callie teased Sloan trying to provoke him.

"Am not," was his indignant reply. I tried to keep my composure and ignore their remarks.

"He has been… all day," her voice trailed low and lazily over the words.

"Okay, fine. I got a new leaf, not a lobotomy," he briskly replied trying to vindicate his overcharged libido.

At this point I refused to remain passive. I challenged him, "you couldn't handle the two of us." I ignored the shock evident Callie's expression.

Feeling the need to prove me wrong he immediately replied with a nonchalant "Oh, but I could. I won't… but I could."

"You wouldn't find it… intimidating?" I continued to goad him knowing full well where I was going.

"Not at all," he bit and gave me the chance to make the argument I had been holding back since lunch. My eyes weren't on him; all of my focus had shifted to the woman next to me. I paused only slightly before I reached for her.

I had forgotten how soft women's lips are. It was simple and sweet. I left the elevator with a smug smile. I couldn't bring myself to look at her. I didn't want to know if she was horrified or worse yet happy. If the "relationship" ended there I knew how to proceed but if she reciprocated she would end up calling my bluff and all bets would be off.


End file.
